Heroes and Villains
by Nyltiak
Summary: A human girl tries to draw the line between the Good and the Bad...and no one's making it easy.
1. From Printed Page

Chapter One- From Printed Page

"_The idea of being electrocuted makes me sick, and that's all there was to read about in the papers, goggle-eyed headlines staring up at me on every street corner...it had nothing to do with me, but I couldn't help wondering what it would be like, being burned alive along all your nerves," The Bell Jar  By Sylvia Plath_

I'd read the papers. Everyone has, of course, I just seemed to be reading them more than most. What had happened a month ago at Liberty filled me with a morbid facination with the whole subject.

My roommate was on the debate team, so having a few extra copies of the Times around didn't really arouse any suspicions. She was actually kind of proud of me, said something like...I dunno. What was it? That I was _' _Blooming into an adult by taking an interest in the facinating world around me '_'_? Something like that.

She's in Drama, too.

I mean, I guess it's normal, right? Superheroes are popping out of the most unexpected places, little kids are shooting fire out of their eyeballs, pissed off teenagers are leveling buildings without even meaning to. I have every right to be interested...

But instead of watching in wide-eyed facination, most of us normal humans are weeding them out as fast as we possibly can. The idea of super-humans appeals to the public on a grand scale, but no one wants to step out on their porch on a Sunday afternoon and watch a bunch of freaks duking it out on their front lawn.

So I guess it was a mingling of guilt and facination that lead me to start rooting for the other team. Guilt, of course, was from the fact that I was one of those ordinary humans who would stop on the street and gawk at the man with three eyes or the purple-skinned woman. I didn't throw shit or anything, but I just couldn't seem to tear my eyes away. It wasn't a negative thing, I guess, but it was always taken that way.

So I started buying those comic books that Marvel shelled out. They took the real people-- from the X-Men, the Brotherhood, the Avengers, and put them in spandex outfits. They glorified and romanticized every single one of them, fabricating real events. Ones you could read about in the papers.

Marvel was openly pro-mutant, and they had to work underground because of this. You could hardly buy one of their comics at the corner store. Any establishment that sold them risked being blown up by their friendly neighborhood FOH squad...and posessing the books was almost as dangerous.

But I did it anyway. It filled me with a purpose, like I held some kind of important secret, like I was special or wise-- a human that could accept a mutant for who they were.

But the fact was, when it came down to it, I stared like everyone else. I thought that maybe if I studied them enough, or if I read enough of the comics, or if I scorned enough of those right-winged pshychos with their pleas that mutants were 'not even human', that they didn't deserve rights, that they were little more than animals...maybe that I could be...I dunno. Special. Maybe if I met one of them, they'd like me. That I was one exception to the _Homo Sapien _rule.

I was a moron.

Now, most pro-mutant humans sided with the X-Men. It made sense, because the X-Men wanted to preserve mankind as a whole, _Sapien_ and _Superior_ together.

But_ I _didn't. I went for the Brotherhood. Why? Because I wanted to show myeself how truely _accepting_ I was. Yeah, these people wanted to destroy hunans in every sense of the word, but they had their reasons, didn't they?

I'd read in-depth histories for every single one of them. I found ways to sympathize with them. Mystique, Sabretooth and Toad had all gotten the beat-down about their obvious mutations since they were children. Their leader, Magneto, had gone through the Holocaust. He was just fearful that we humans would do the same thing to mutants, out of fear...so, wasn't he justified? And the X-Men had tromped in and nearly destroyed every single one of them. Brutally. Lightning, burning through every nerve, steel blades, and peircing beams. The roles of villian and hero were switched.

Like I said, I romanticized them in my mind. And it was the most idiodic thing I could've ever done. Because I would get that chance, after all my wishing...and it wouldn't make a lick of difference what I told them or what I believed...because I'm a flat-scan human. I'm the enemy. And I'm the daughter of a man with connections...


	2. Every End Has A Beginning

Chapter Two- Every End Has A Beginning

"Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head". William Shakespeare

I go out for lunch every Tuesday and alternating Friday with Margaret, a quiet girl from my English class.

He knew this, obviously. Now that I know him better, it seems quite clear that he must've done. He would've followed me for weeks- but because Margaret was in the way, he would never have the chance to pluck me off. You may be asking yourself why he didn't just take me and kill her. Good question. I'll be sure to ask.

It was Tuesday, that I was sure of, but I'd forgotten the date. I was just desperate in my count to the end of the week- as always. I left campus, taking the ill-used hallways and shrub covered paths, always sneaky, even though I was fully excused- pass in hand. I liked pretending I got off on the adventure of it, the risk. The truth was, I hated every second of it.

Margaret was sick that day. She wouldn't be coming with, but that was alright. Although I felt bad about it, both of us knew I invited Margie along so I didn't look like a lonely freak...not for the tantalizing conversation.

I walked along, the wet from yesterday's rain soaking through to my socks. Low hanging branches dropped moisture onto my meticulously cleaned school-issue cotton blouse. I'd probably get in trouble for that.

It was too cold. I should've brought my coat...I crossed my arms over my chest, shivering. Damn! By the time I get to the restaurant, I'll be a human popsicle...It was the kind of damp, Early-Spring cold that permeated the bones and turned your lips blue.

Usually you didn't see this kind of weather after April, but that was the New Hampshire weather for you.

Now that I think back on it, the cold, the damp, it was more than appropriate.

The long, tree lined walk to the front gate had always succeeded in giving me the creeps. The ancient branches hung low, letting no sunlight in, no sound out. Every noise was amplified in the forested tomb, the innocent chattering of a squirrel could sound like a barrage of arrows 'shooking' by into the brush.

The funny thing was that I never heard him approach. Didn't hear one leaf rustle as he slinked through the branches. It was the slight draft on my neck that finally alerted me to his presence--as he jumped down, eerily close. It didn't occur to me to scream. I just stood. Stared. Probably not the best idea, considering who was standing in front of me.

"...Toad." I said in an awed little whisper. That wasn't the reaction he was looking for, of course. He'd wanted fear or disgust. Something that would move me from being a person to just another flatscan--just another number.

What he didn't want was a gangly teen staring at him as if he were some sort of legend come to life. A hero, an icon. But that's what I did.

And it made him angry.

Chapter Three


	3. Heroes Let You Down

Chapter Three- Heroes Let You Down

_"Why I, in this weak piping time of peace have no delight to pass away the time, unless to see my shadow in the sun, and descant on mine own deformity. And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these fair, well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain..." _William Shakespeare- 'Richard III'.

He grabbed my arm, his eyes glaring into mine. "What the hell're you doing?" he snapped. He looked different. Different from the comic books, different from the images I had stockpiled in my mind. His skin was more yellowish than kelly-green. His face was almost sickly, gaunt-- but the rest of him was well muscled. He was short, but didn't hunch as much as Marvel would have you believe. His shoulders slumped slightly, out of habit more than anything.  
Toad was ugly. Repulsive, venomous. But his eyes...I just couldn't tear my gaze away.

He shook my body violently, twice, his grip tight, leaving ten fingerprint bruises on my arms. I cried out in surprise and pain. "Sorry...I...sorry. What do you want?" I asked. His brow crinkled. Maybe it was just his odd skin color, but it seemed to me as if he had no eyebrows at all. I blinked._ Focus!  
_

He was obviously confused by my tone. He'd expected _some_ sort of anxiety at being accosted like this, but no. In my mind, he was a friend. I spent my waking hours studying him and his colleagues. I wanted to talk to him, so I treated the situation as it was completely of-the-norm.

He yanked me forward harshly, jaw clenched, face screwed up in a menacing sneer. "You stupid bitch," he snorted. "You know who I am, yeah? Heard of me? You should be runnin' the other _way_," on 'way' he wrenched my arm so hard I thought it would come out of the socket.

My breath stopped in my chest. _What_? This wasn't how it was supposed to go! I wasn't even able to get a word in edgewise before he started to hate me! "No, wait, you don't understand--!" I started as he started walking, quickly, down the darkened path. I had to stumble along to keep up with his pace, or fall in the mud.

"Don' 'understand'? Whatis there to _understand_, pet?" with another jerk of my arm, we were face to face, only inches apart. Loathing radiated off him in thick waves--I could almost feel it around me.

"My name's Evelyn Anderson," I said, trying to put this introduction back on track, the way it should be. "I've read about you in the papers, you and the rest of the Brotherhood." I tried to stand up straight. "I think what you're doing...I think it's the right thing to do..." All I got for my efforts was a cold, deadly-sounding chuckle, deep in this throat. His lips peeled back from diminuative teeth in an almost predatory sneer.

"That's the biggest load'a shyte I've ever heard, human," his hand flashed out, rabbit-punching me in the middle of the forehead. As my world went black, shimmering around me, I heard his voice like through water. "Have some dignity. What you people'll say to save your bleeding _skins_..."


	4. Talking With Toad

Chapter Four

_"And then the quiet came. It came abruplty, as if he'd come and gone, dramatically, and I felt the emptiness and the loneliness of the moment unbearably." Anne Rice 'Violin'  
_

I couldn't say when or where I woke up, because I couldn't see three inches in front of my nose. For a few frantic seconds, I thought that the blow to the head had struck me blind, but I began to see shapes in the room after awhile. Vague outlines that seemed to shift as I moved.

The light, where ever it was coming from, was doing more harm than help, letting my imagination wander. Some people lose track of time in situations like this. Not me. I wore a wristwatch, it's relentless little heart beating much slower than mine. I was aware when every minute past, counting them in my head faithfully, but some seconds seemed warped, longer or shorter than they should be between the ticks. I was beginning to wonder if I was going crazy, or if maybe the watch's battery was.

Silly trivial things occurred to me then. No one would be up early enough to help Ms. Colber in the Art room--she was a student teacher and didn't know where the paints were, and even then she was too short to reach them. My bed would be a mess. My roommate, Claudia would worry. Margie wouldn't have anyone to eat lunch with on Thursday...

A metallic groan settled somewhere deeper in the building, and I nearly jumped out of my skin, falling over and grazing my knee and elbows. I turned my head to where I was sure the door would be, but the sudden burst of illumination came from behind me, instead of to my right, catching me off guard again. A slightly slumped figure stood in the doorway, looking at me on the floor with distaste.

"School uniforms." he crouched down, wrenching my chin up so he could see me, the eerie grin on his face only made worse by the shadows cast by the half-light from the hallway. "As I remember, you got punished for the littlest scuff on your shoe..." he made a show of looking me over, obviously elated with my discomfort. "And look, you've bloodied up the elbows of your nice shirt," he looked into my eyes, and then his fingers went to my neck, fingering the cloth there. "Got mud on your collar," he said in a low, rasp of a whisper. It was at that moment that I started fearing for my life. "Such a shame," and just as quickly as his mood came, it went, and with it, the barely veiled threats. I've learned to predict them more accurately now, able to avoid certain words and phrases that he doesn't like. Talking to Toad is a delicate art. Get your wires crossed...well, don't. It's often the last thing you do. "C'mon then, love," he said, brushing the dust off his pants as if nothing had happened. "The boss wants 'ta see you,"

I blinked, nearly choking with surprise. "Magneto?" I asked. My voice was little more than a whisper from lack of use. Maybe the meeting would go better with him. Toad was obviously a nut-job, top to bottom. But Magneto...I couldn't have been wrong about him too, right?

"That's right, beautiful," he said, a slight swagger in his step. I stared. Was he messing with me? Was this some sort of game? In another blink of an eye, I was pinned against the wall, his face, wrought with fury, an inch from my own, his hot breath surrounding me. "_What--," _he started, absolutely seething, his voice shaking, as if it was all he could do to stop himself from snapping my neck, then and there, "--Are you _staring_ at? Is there something you want to _say_, human? _Does this look like a circus to you? A freak show? Is that what I **am to you**_?" his voice rose in volume with each syllable, his hands clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"N-n-n-no!" I stuttered in shock, my eyes wide and frightened. His hand darted out and latched around my throat, starting to squeeze.

"Don't _lie_ to me," he said in a low, guttural whisper.

"I'm--not--!" I coughed desperately, starting to struggle_. Oh God._ I was going to die, wasn't I? In the middle of nowhere murdered by someone I idolized. They'll never find my body. They'll search for years and my only testament to this world will be a bleached out photo on the side of amilk carton! _Oh God oh God oh God oh God--!_

And suddenly, Toad was gone, hurled against the far wall, leaving me to rub my throat anxiously, and look for my savior. It was the last person I ever would've expected. Even_ I_ had no misconceptions about Sabretooth.


	5. First Blood, Then Fear

Chapter Five 

_"...The air was full of the busy silence of the night; which is created by hundreds of small furry things treading very carefully in the hope of finding dinner while avoiding being the main course," Terry Pratchett 'Equal Rites'. _

"You _idiot_," Sabretooth turned on Toad, absolutely furious. "You'll ruin everything!" I noticed that his voice was slightly muffled by his over-hanging fangs, and that he smelled like dried blood and something else I couldn't name. Toad got up and snarled, and Sabretooth snarled right back, except the latter's was a deal more impressive. Toad admitted defeat grudgingly, but still maintained most of his dignity as he stood up, and brushed off his pants.

"C'mere," he commanded. Although Sabretooth beckoned me over, I stayed on the ground, my knees glued to my chest and probably a very blank look on my face.

"Come _here_," he repeated, speaking very loudly, along with a slow exaggeration of the hand movement. I blinked, and then realized that Victor must be thinking that I was either very slow, or very deaf, or both. Which was just _peachy_ coming from someone who looked like they'd been playing wiffle ball on the day the government was handing out brains.

That didn't change how deathly terrifying he was though, so I got to my feet and I scurried after him like a pull-along puppet. It was about then that I recognized the other smell Sabretooth carried with him--besides for the blood. It was fear. Not his, of course, it was one of those residual smells that you get from being in the presence of something for a long time-- like a used car that, after being smoked in for so long by its previous owner, still smells of tobacco and nicotine-- even if you haven't smoked a day in your life, and you've hung one of those trees over your rear-view mirror.

It was almost like that. Except, instead of being around the noxious fumes of cigarettes for the better part of fifty years, Sabretooth had been surrounded by people consumed with absolute mind-numbing, pants-wetting terror. And he'd instilled it all. As I examined Sabretooth more closely, I noticed that his long, claw-like fingernails were still encrusted with blood, and that the tips of his digits were permanently stained a gruesome shade of pink. I thought I was going to puke.

I tried to direct my attention elsewhere, but then the only thing I could concentrate on were Toad's fingers. They were slender and tapered and agile, but somehow, still strong. They were a drawer's fingers--a painter's fingers, a pianist or a violinists' fingers...but I knew the only art they were trained to was the art of torture and snapping necks.

Author's Note: I've noticed that several of you have commented on Toad's behavior in this fic...some of you like it, and some of you don't. I'd like to think of him as unbalanced instead of _evil_ thus far, but I will agree with the people who said he was mean--because he is being kind of...mean. And scary. I'm doing this on purpose. And that's how he's going to be for quite awhile-- I'm trying to experiment with different sides of Toad's character, because I don't want to trick myself like my protagonist is. Toad really isn't a very nice guy when you first meet him. He's an assassin, he enjoys his work, and he hates humans with a frightening passion. He himself is terrified of rejection and tricks, which is why he doesn't believe he could possibly have a 'fan' in the human race. But don't worry. He'll warm up over time.


	6. Ceiling To Eternity

Chapter Six

_"The only real rules are these; what a man can't do, and what a man _can_ do." Captain Jack Sparrow, Pirates of the Caribbean_

We were approaching a tunnel in the side of a wall. I had really expected the Master of Magnetism to go for something a bit more flashy for his island base-of-operations, but so far, all the stuff I'd seen was natural-- rooms were just furnished caverns carved out by eons of tide.

But his office must've been the inside of a volcano. It was _massive_. I stepped out, and looked up, instantly feeling the tingling in the back of my knees and by my temples, and an uncomfortable queasiness in my stomach. Vertigo. Usually experienced by looking down from high places...but this room was so high, and I so very small in comparison, I was afraid gravity would forget herself and I would float away into the shadows. I couldn't even see the ceiling, despite the bright wall lighting. For all I knew, it went on forever.

He sat behind a large, metal desk, glasses perched on his nose, examining papers. He looked older than he did in the comics, more worn. Almost exhausted. But at the same time, persevering, onward and upward and never stopping. Erik Lensherr, the infamous Magneto. "Ms. Anderson," he said looking up sharply, a secretive smile on his lips. His fingers twitched and a metal chair slid up behind me, knocking the backs of my already shaking knees. I fell back into it with a heavy thud.

"Evelyn," I said automatically in a weak voice.

"Pardon me?" asked Magneto, raising one eyebrow.

"You can call me...Evelyn...if you want. Sir," she added quickly.

"The human has backbone," said Magneto to Sabretooth and Toad as if I wasn't there. His smile cracked wider. "Admirable."

"Thank you," I interjected, my voice still soft. His ice-blue eyes flicked over to me.

"Did I say you could speak?" he barked. I shook my head, biting my lip. This was going _splendidly_, wasn't it? There was a long, terrifying pause. "Do you know why you're here, Evelyn?"

"No," I said quietly. Besides the fact that I'd been wishing for it for the last two years? _'Be careful what you wish for'_ was taking on a whole new meaning for me. I realized that none of these 'meetings' were going to go the way I planned. I was in deep water, deeper and darker than I thought water had any right to be.These people were not the stuff of my daydreams. They were not dashing rogues I had imagined. They lived by no code, and held no honor. They judged humans as quickly as humans would judge them, but whatever works. I guess that's what has kept them alive so long.

Author's Note: Sorry these chapters have been so short, but I've had very little time to write them in. Finals. Ungh. But thanks for all the spectacular reviews, you guys! Oh, and the reason for her kidnapping hasn't been revealed yet. I'm gettin' around to it...um...sometime this year, hopefully...


	7. Bad Habits

Chapter Seven 

_"Henry told me once that his doctor thinks that he's a new kind of human. You know, sort of the next step in evolution."_

_Grandma shakes her head. "That's just as bad as being a demon. Goodness, Clare! Why would you ever want to marry such a person? Think of the children you would have!" _Audrey Niffenegger 'The Time Traveler's Wife'.

The silence stretched, and Erik looked at me as if I were something nasty, and potentially sticky, that had ended up stuck to the sole of his shoe. "You are here because of your father's relationship with Bolivar Trask and Graydon Creed. Do you know who these two men are?" he asked. I shook my head dumbly, probably not helping in their opinion of my intelligence.

"I--I mean, I've heard of them but I've never met them and I didn't even know that my father knew them and I think that they're both a bunch of--," Magneto moved his hand sharply to signal silence. I swallowed and put my head down sheepishly. Goose-flesh on the the back of my legs rose from the cold touch of the iron chair.

"You are being used as ransom, Evelyn. Those two men are trying to revive the Sentinel project. As I understand, they can be persuaded out of it...by the right person." informed her. "And if your father does not act quickly..." he glanced over at Toad and Sabretooth, conveying his message completely.

A slow, unnerving grin settled over Toad's face. Sabretooth's clawed hands twitched in anticipation of the kill. Apparently, these two had no faith in my father at all. It did wonders for the confidence. A cold sweat broke out on my face, and the goose-bumps rose on my arms and the back of my neck as well. A sort of sloshy feeling began in my stomach, as if someone had dumped battery acid into me and given it a good shake.

Sabretooth took in a deep breath as if my fear had a scent. He was making it obvious that he was enjoying it greatly. Magneto looked up from his desk and made a 'shoo'ing gesture at me. "Take her back to her cell, Toad." he muttered impatiently, eyes sinking back to his papers once again.

The green man gripped my upper arm again, but it wasn't nearly as vicious this time- almost wary. As he led me along, he kept on glancing down to where his hand met my arm, as if confused.

"Even if I did get away from you, which is very unlikely, I'd still be stuck on the island, miles from shore." I swallowed, and hung my head, feeling defeated and lost. I was now living only a shadow of a life, a short thing that I knew was to be taken away...and I had no control. I felt weak and helpless- like a death row inmate. Just awaiting my execution day. "I'm not going to struggle," I explained, when his look of confusion persisted. "There's no point."

His mouth opened, but then closed just as quickly, his brow furrowed deeper. "Yeah, guess not." he quickened his pace a little, and I almost tripped. When we reached my cell again, he just let go and locked me in, casting me another suspicious look before he ran off.

Much later, I found the reason for his strange behavior. Toad had expected some sort of revulsion at his touch- he had come to know the way people twitched from his hands and shied as he advanced upon them. When I didn't, it confused him terribly.

He came back a few hours later with some food, which I ate ravenously. He just sat in a crouch in the far corner of the cell, watching silently. I looked up when I was finished, taking a sip of water. I saw he was looking, and a deep blush spread over my face. I had probably looked disgusting. "Sorry," I murmured. Two golden eyes blinked at me, confused again, an emotion I began to notice that I inflicted quite often. I gestured to my plate with one hand, as I wiped my mouth with the other. "I probably didn't have the best...eating habits just there."

He smiled, as if enjoying some inside joke, and left without another word.


	8. A Few Origins Explained

Chapter 8- A Few Origins Explained

_"I was born with the devil in me. I could not help the fact that I was a murderer, no more than the poet can help the inspiration to sing."_ Dr. H.H. Holmes

And so I was left there, in the silence, again, whiling away the hours and minutes, sometimes with a dull apathy, and sometimes with anticipatory fear that gripped me entirely. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't see...and then all of the sudden, the fear would stop, as if I had awoken from a nightmare. But it was just as easily invoked again.

It was about two hours (or maybe twenty-six hours) later when my door was opened again. But I had learned not to trust my watch. I would have much rather believed that it was malfunctioning than my mind.

A now familiar slumped figure stood in the doorway, observing me like a bug in a jar. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

"Isn' nice to be stared at, is it, pet?" he inquired with a kind of cold madness. I shook my head slowly. This seemed to mollify him, and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. I spotted the key, tied around his neck with a peice of tatty twine. "S'bad manners." he continued, sitting down across from me, legs folded, gold eyes boring into mine. He had brought a small lantern, which he placed in the center of the room. He blinked once, and glanced at my throat. "Did I hurt you?" he asked eventually, voice showing no hint of concern.

"I'll...I'll be okay," I said warily, not quite sure what kind of game he was playing. He nodded once, satisfied with the answer.

"Erik wasn't happy tha' I hurt you," he continued, eyes flicking to the floor. The light revealed that he had a large, nasty cut on his forehead, surrounded by a yellow-black bruise, and he seemed to be holding his left arm very gingerly as he shifted his weight.

"I'm...sorry," I tried carefully. His eyes flicked up to me again, and he leaped to his feet.

"What makes you so _special_?" he demanded. "You're jus' like all the rest of them...pink an' weak an' so very...breakable."

I met his eyes, but was careful not to appear to be staring. I swallowed, mind racing. I had to change the subject, confuse him a bit so that he'd forget his rage.

"Why did you join the Brotherhood?" I asked, sounding a lot braver than I felt. He looked at me suspiciously, but settled back down into a crouching position, watching me. Intrigued.

"They foun' me." he said with a blink. "In York. I was runnin' away from a mob when they foun' me." he said finally, still wary.

"Did you really build the machine at Liberty Island?" I asked, honest curiosity in my voice. After all, these people had been my heroes, and I still had many questions I wanted to ask. Now he looked even more surprised.

"Er...yeah. I did." he said, shifting his weight a little. He wasn't sure which side of the board he was playing any more. It was obvious he was uncomfortable without control in the situation. He wanted it back.

"Where did you learn to do stuff like that?" I asked, my body tilted forward slightly, gaze attentive.

"I dunno," he said uncomfortably, as if he were being tested unprepared. "I jus'...always been good with that kinda stuff..."

"Do you know when you're going to fight the X-Men next?" I asked, feeling a bit like a reporter interviewing an awkward rookie on a sports team.

"Soon," he said, a little bit of a grin flickering over his features. He was no doubt thinking of revenge.

"Do you have any pets?" she asked. A very random question, but I'd been very thrown when I'd found out that Storm had a bunch of parakeets and Cyclops a toy poodle. He blinked again.

"...Erik had a cat once. It died." his answer was so blunt it was almost funny, but I didn't dare smile. I thought I was getting through with him. I opened my mouth, and he scowled, getting up.

"No more questions." he barked, and left immediately. I frowned and sat in the darkest corner. This was impossible, this delicate game of saying and doing, trying to throw the balance. It was usually hard with regular people, but with a madman, it proved nearly impossible.


	9. Man Inside the Monster

Chapter Nine

_You can discover what your enemy fears most by observing the means he uses to frighten you_. Eric Hoffer

The next day, Mystique came by with seven packed meals and a large quantity of bottled water, her cat-like posture more forced than it usually was.

"We'll be away for awhile." was all she said, a definite note of impatience, and even anxiety in her strange voice.

What happened then, I wouldn't know until much later. I spent the next seven days in silence, mostly sleeping to dream of better things, and when I couldn't sleep, I stared at the wall and thought of plans, something, maybe, that could help get me out of here. Anything.

Why was it only on paper that the hostage makes a clever escape? Because, of course, the hostage usually dies cold and hungry with a bullet in the back of her head, the last meal of her life a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich, the last thought jumping from synapse to synapse before the circuit is cut is one of fear and a hope extinguished, one of regret, that she didn't get to live...and she would have, oh, she would have, just like she had promised in her fevered prayers to whatever deity would listen...!

My madness sprung from that, as the lantern Toad had left slowly, slowly faded out. I imagined that my soul was the latern and as soon as it was extinguished, I would float away. I waited in hope, and sometimes in terror, as it carried on strongly. It didn't slowly fade and gutter out, but ended in an instant. To my relief, and to my dissapointment, my soul was still in my body. Safe. I don't know what I would've done without that light.

On the eighth day, my door creaked open. A figure stumbled in. My lantern had long since gone out, but I knew who it was. And he was obviously badly injured to be walking like that. He collapsed a few feet from me, his breathing a labored rasp, as if he had just run a long way.

He had forgotten to close the door behind him. One hand was out, reaching for me, a small whimper issuing from his lips. Desperation. It was then that I noticed the stench of burnt flesh coming off of him. I froze. There was the door, open in front of me. I doubted, even if I escaped my cell that I'd be able to get off the Island, but there was still a chance. But at my feet, there was a man, or a shell of a man, trained to be a monster, but reduced to a helpless child in this horrible pain, stripped of all pretenses.

I had every reason to hate Toad. He had kidnapped me, insulted me, threatened me, and tried deliberately to frighten me time and again. But he had also brought me food, and for some strange reason, brought me that lantern. He had even apologized in his own, strange way.

I bit my lip, and I looked down at him, and then sighed. I knew what I had to do, if it was only repayment that light, and I slid one arm under his, and used my free hand to grip the wall, using it for extra support as I got him to his feet. He let out a low moan, but stayed standing. I helped him walk, one foot after the other, glancing around, wandering aimlessly, until I found the infirmary.

This raised another question. Why had he come to me? Why hadn't he come here in the first place? I ignored the thought for now, and helped him up onto the table, searching the drawers for a pair of scissors. I'd need to cut his clothing off-- he was wearing layers, as usual, and I needed to get to those burns.

An old, familiar hatred burned in my heart for the X-Men, how they could preach about the value of every life, and then try and destroy it like this. There were plenty of other less evasive ways of stopping Toad. I knew that for a fact, but someone had a great perchance for dramatics-- and the power of her own lightning. I finally found a good pair of medical scissors and hurried back over to the table, lifting the edge of his sweatshirt, and beginning to cut it away.

I received no resistance until I was down to his final layer. He started struggling and writhing, eyes wide and fearful.

"No..." he said, voice very small. "No, no...don' look, don' look...!" he pleaded.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I reassured him in the most soothing voice I could muster, but the entire situation was taking its toll on me, and I was close to tears.

"Don' _look_...you won' want to help me if you...don'...you shouldn' have to look..." he begged, but his struggling had stopped. He was just too exhausted. I wiped the tears off of my face harshly with the back of my hand. Focus.

"It's okay," I soothed, slowly cutting away the shirt. "I promise." That's what he feared most, his own appearance, despite the many times he had tried to frighten me with it, sneering and glaring and trying to get me to show some kind of disgust. But he had been doing it to assure himself that he didn't care. That it didn't matter, even though it really did. And now, he was afraid that as I treated his wounds I'd become disgusted with him and flee. Leaving him here to die. Where were the others?

He whimpered softly as I removed his shirt, and assessed the damage. He was waiting for some sign of rejection, but I wouldn't give him one. It may be different when he was recovered, maybe he would forget this act of kindness, or make himself forget, and we'd be back to where we started, but for now...

The burns scored across his chest viciously, but there were none on him from the neck up. she'd probably hit him in the air, when he was leaping toward her. He'd been too bent on revenge, and he'd gotten sloppy again.

I sighed, and went looking for some burn salve. When I got back, I noticed tears were escaping his closed eyes, and his breathing was rapid, like a toddler trying to hold back sobs.

"Hey...it's alright, I'm here," I reassured gently, beginning to spread the salve over the burns.

"...though'...though' you'd left me..." he said finally, in a quavery voice.

"Where are the others?" I asked. He tensed at first under my touch, but then melted under it, his breathing evening out and the tension in his face ebbing away.

"Still fighting," he mumbled. "I...had to leave...didn' wan' us to lose, had to." I moved to his arms, and rubbed the salve between his fingers, on the delicate webbing. He curled his hand around, and eyes still closed, he interlocked his fingers with mine. I wiped away more of those mutinous tears.

"I have to finish up," I explained. I hadn't gotten to any of the burns on his lower body. At this, he froze completely, eyes snapping open. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Do you trust me?" he nodded slowly, looking for all the world like a frightened child. He slowly let go of me, eyes trained on me the entire time.

I patted his hand reassuringly and finished up on his upper body before I went to the end of the med table, with the scissors again, cutting up one pant leg. His breathing got quicker and more fearful as I did this, and I tried to ignore it, but that wetness cursed my cheeks like a persistant fly. I finished cutting his pants away, leaving him near nude, stripped of dignity, and left shivering in a pair of white cotton boxers. His teeth were chattering despite how hot his flesh was to my touch, and his limbs kept on twitching, as if he wanted to curl up and hide himself from me.

I patted his hand reassuringly, and then went to work, spreading the salve on his legs and feet, stomach churning as I felt how deep some of the burns were. He relaxed after awhile, but not as much as before.

I blushed hard as I looked at his underwear. There was no chance that there weren't burns there, and I knew right now, he couldn't take care of them himself. If he got an infection, or permanent damage, it would be on my head.

With a deep breath, I put more salve on my hand. He wasn't going to like this at all, that I knew, and I didn't want to invade his privacy. He'd been humiliated enough. But it was the only way. I slipped my hand under the waistband and applied the salve to his more tender anatomy, giving him some semblance of privacy by leaving his underwear on. He froze up in terror, shaking, eyes closed tight, and I wiped away more tears. "I'm not going to hurt you." I promised him, and finished. Knowing that no matter what he did to me now, I couldn't hate him...because I had this moment of human weakness and fear. Helpless.

I had him turn on his stomach so that I could get his back, which was tense and shaking. I finished this all relatively quickly, and washed my hands before going back to him.

His eyes were closed, but not squinted shut, and his breathing was normal. The salve had a numbing agent, which probably helped bring down the pain quite a bit, and it also acted as a buffer between the burns and the air.

"How are you feeling?" I asked tentatively. "Do you need anything?"

"Thank you," was all he said before slipping off to sleep. "Thank you..."

I smiled a little, vision bluring a bit as I left. The weren't heroes as I'd dreamed...but they weren't villains, as I had feared. And for a moment, hope glimmered, as I locked myself back in my cell.


	10. Microcosms

_There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains. the people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch._

Bette Davis (1908 - 1989), The Lonely Life, 1962

Chapter Ten

The next few hours were spent in a pleasant sort of lucid-madness, a madness I could identify, but enjoy at the same time. I wondered, and hoped, that it wasn't anything permanent. Being mad is an enjoyable past time, but it gets scary quickly enough.

Every single one of my memories became razor-sharp. I felt like I could fit everything into my mind, that everything, everywhere, had a place into which it fit, and suddenly all the moral quandaries and the fears and doubts and trying-to-be's melted away like candle wax. Everything made so much _sense_.

Unfortunately, I felt myself coming back to the world of the mundane, slowly, slowly. I figured madness was a lot more holy than bland sanity could ever be.

I remembered, in this slow waking-up, a random memory, a memory that was sad and happy at the same time. I couldn't have been more than three or four years old. I was out in the driveway, blowing bubbles. I blew them one at a time, fascinated at the reflections. It was a world of color, complete and beautiful, warped and strange. But when it came time for the bubble to die, the colors went black and white, or sepia. The rebellious air broke the delicate membrane in its desperate ploy to get free, and it shattered each little world.

So I tried to save them. I caught them on my bubble wand, keeping them close, trying to make them last, but the more I did this, the quicker they popped. The harder I tried to hold on and save, the quicker they came to an end, but when they flew free, up, and away…

I frowned, looking up as the door swung open. It was Raven. She started to talk, but it was cotton in my ears. I nodded numbly, and eventually she realized I wasn't listening. She let out an exasperated sigh. "Fucking drama queens." She muttered irritably, and moved away, down the hallway, leaving the door ajar.

Apparently, my status had changed.

Author's Note: Yeah, sorry for the delay and the short chapter. I promise more soon! Just been doin' my homework and dealing with not-so-enjoyable people every day. Exhausting.


	11. Mespret Deasures

Man, in short, is a predator. He is made to hunt, he is made to live and work in a pack, like the wolf. He is a social animal. Although he requires vegetation as a part of his diet now, his ancient ancestors ate raw meat by the pound. He is not as civilized as he'd like to think.

Sometimes, under stress, man's animalistic urges break free of their thin casing, and strike with ferocity. But one thing still separates _homo sapien_ and _superior_ from the rest of the animal kingdom. This ferocity is guided by a fierce and ruthless intelligence.

This was easy to see in Toad. There wasn't much left to separate the destructive force from the rational mind. I don't know how this could've happened.

As I remember him, from the news stories, yes--- even in the comics (which I found now were sickeningly romantic, even to the X-Men) he was a man with a purpose. He had a Cause. He had a rule of leaving the unarmed unharmed, if he could help it. He wasn't ruthless, not like Sabretooth could be.

But something had happened in all of those hundreds of fights. Something had changed, there had been one death too many, and suddenly, death was death, no matter how doled, and whoever got in his way would find himself soon harvested by a reaper not to his liking.

I had no idea how many weeks I had spent in custody, but it must be more than a month, if not a season. They didn't change here, so I had no way of knowing. It remained a constant temperature, not quite tropic, but not quite temperate. I played a game trying to find where on earth the Island was, but I eventually gave up.

No one wandered the Island after I had been let out. I ran into no one, except the occasional shifting shadow, the occasional prickling of my skin, the allusion to being watched. I know he—or any of them—could hide anywhere without my knowing, and it was a great discomfort going to sleep at night. I had no idea if I would be waking up the next morning in one piece, or at all.

No one bothered to talk to me, but someone left regular meals outside my door. They came like clockwork, every day. Sometimes they fit the meal they should. Cereal for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch, something like spaghetti for dinner. But on occasion, my provider would become forgetful (or something like it) and just leave some cutlery on a plate, or perhaps a can of cold peas (without the benefit of a can-opener).

I didn't mind terribly, I had access to the kitchen like everyone else. The only reason I kept on accepting these meals was in hope that he would eventually come forward, and at least let me talk to him a little—it could be about something as mundane as the…well, I can't think of anything more mundane than the weather.

But no. I was left to silence, although sometimes my possessions, or what I liked to believe were my possessions, were moved about. Sometimes my bed was rumpled as if someone had been sitting or sleeping on it, but I never saw hide or hair of any other living creature. I'd had just about enough.

Man, and of course, woman, are vulnerable to animalistic urges such as rage. I felt myself succumbing to it, and decided there was no way my life could take a worse turn.

I would _make_ him come out and talk to me. _Anyone_. I would do anything necessary.

* * *

I was just compared to Bradbury. I think I've found my new best friend! 


	12. Unexpected Changes

Chapter 12 Unexpected Changes

"_It was the first time he had ever seen her look at him as if he was other than a disgusting cockroach. There was still a large element of cockroach I n the glance, but it said: good little cockroach, you have learned a trick." Terry Pratchett, Wyrd Sisters_

Nobody likes being treated like a puppet; no one likes to feel weak, insignificant, ignored. Even the meekest of people gets fed up, after a time, with being treated like a burden and a child. Everybody has a breaking point, and I was at mine.

I refused to just sit in this gilded cage like a rewarded pet, a loathsome human that had proved her usefulness. It occurred to me how ridiculous they were acting, all of them, a bunch of conceited hypocrites...they were angered at humans' stereotypical claims that mutants were dangerous, plotting, alien, unnatural, but they created stereotypes of humans as well—dumb, slobbering apes with no more moral fiber or table manners than a Neanderthal. A good dose of desperation, loneliness and anger led me to voice these opinions. Rather loudly.

"…_COWARDS! AND THAT'S ALL I HAVE TO SAY ABOUT THAT!" _I stood in the middle of one of the Island's central chambers, my anger slowly ebbing away after a very long, spirited speech, rational mind starting to sort out what I had just said, and to whom. Clenched fists started to open like budding flowers, clammy and pale, the blood draining from my face as I heard a few pebbles fall a few feet to my left. My intended audience had heard me.

Toad sat on a ledge halfway up the wall, the look on his face enough to drive me into a rage again.

He looked _amused_. He looked at me in a way I recognized from my younger years at family gatherings, when I would try to include myself in the 'grown-up' conversation. The kind of look that was usually followed by a kindly 'why don't you go back and play with your toys?'. A look of patronizing arrogance on his face, we were near enough to the same age, I _wasn't_ stupid, and I knew what I was talking about!

"What's so funny?" I demanded, one hand on my hip, glaring at him. He looked like he was holding back a chuckle or two.

"You've go' quite a temper on yeh, pet. Better watch it, migh' get you in trouble some day." He flashed an eerie grin. Needless to say I wasn't impressed. I'd seen him at his weakest, and I knew that if it weren't for me, he would be in far worse shape than he was now, if not dead.

"Oh, so you're back to trying to scare me." I said, snorting. "What a novel approach. You've got quite a few tricks up your sleeves, Toad." I was satisfied to see a bit of annoyance etched on his features. Knowing I could get to him was a victory in itself, if I had to see that sneering, distant look one more time, I would scream.

"I'd watch what you were sayin' if I were you, or didya forge' who you were talkin' to?" his look was somewhat darker now, but I didn't care. I was through trying to play these little mind games with him, navigating through murky waters.

"Yeah, I'm talking to a guy who owes me." I had an over-developed sense of confidence, thinking the life-debt gave me a sort of immunity to his rage. Wrong again. He was off the rock shelf in mere moments, and had me pinned against the wall. I could tell his movements were still a little stiff.

"I don' owe you nuthin'. You did what you did b'cause you had to." He hissed.

"Oh, really? I could've left you to die. I could've tried to escape!" I tried to push him off. He glared, absolutely seething.

"Yeh? You jus' did tha' outta the kindness of y'heart? Bullshi'. Th'others would've killed you when they go' home, an' you knew tha'. An' you've no chance of escapin'. You helped me t'help y'self." He suddenly let go of me, as if disgusted. "But y'right. I do…owe you."


	13. Mist, Steam, and Fog

Chapter Thirteen

"_Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes, forgotten." _Neil Gaiman

Memory, I've decided, is a very odd thing. To me, looking back at an event that is neatly finished (or seems neatly finished, you have no idea when a past event will come back to haunt you in new, interesting ways), they seem to have happened to someone else.

They are as intangible as the steam rising off a coffee cup, memories. They flit just outside of my grasp, as I try to remember exactly how that felt, or how that tasted, or smelt. Some memories are easy to relive. Unfortunately, most of these are the sorts of memories that set my cheeks on fire and give my stomach a turn, moments that indeed prove time-travel is possible, even if it is only navigable by embarrassment. Having my English teacher rip apart my essay in front of my entire class (in gross detail) is one of the worst I can recall. Shame floods back into my cheeks, and suddenly I am in sixth grade…. I remember my palms sweating and the way tears blurred, threatening to spill over.

But the most traumatic of memories, my time with them, seems like a dream. Another person's tale of adventure. I'm not sure I could act in the same way if I were in the same position again. Sometimes my calm, and my complete irrationality, seem very unlike me. I know at least one person who thinks of memories in a different way, but he is an irregular case, at best.

At worst, he's a lunatic with no regard to other's people's feelings. Not like someone with a track record like Toad's grew up in a household of loving, caring, share-your-feelings-types. In fact, of what he's told me, he never had a family at all. Betrayal wasn't foreign to Toad. He expected others to learn life wasn't fair, just how he'd learned.

"The Sentinel project was scrapped." He informed me. Some of the greatest words I thought I'd ever hear. But something about the tone of his voice, boredom, perhaps, told me this wasn't the end of the story. I was then told that my daddy hadn't been the one to save me.

In fact, he had been perfectly ready to sacrifice me for the good of the project. It was a group of government officials, who hadn't been totally sold with the Sentinel idea in the first place, that had scrapped it.

A group of people that didn't know me. Hadn't heard my first words, or seen my first steps. They hadn't taught me how to read, they hadn't received birthday cards from me, all hand drawn, since I was the age of three, or seen my first ballet recital. And yet, they all valued my life more than my father did. This was real betrayal.

With a resolve that I still admire, I looked up, and asked, "So. What now?" he responded with a slight look of surprise, and an even stranger hint of approval.

"I guess I take yeh back t'school." He shrugged, observing me like a rather interesting worm under glass.

"Right. How much school did you guys make me miss then?" I asked, too numbed to react, to talk about anything but the mundane. He paused, thinking about it.

"I'd say…a month, give or take a few days." A month. Absolutely surreal. An entire month. A measly month.

"Fantastic." I said. "Well. It's my senior year, anyway. They probably won't have realized I've been gone."

And to some effect, this was true. My grand journey, my dream, came to such an anti-climactic end. Toad brought me back to that tree-lined walk, and disappeared again. All of them flew out of my life, simply as that. My dull life took up right where it had left off. I don't think I've ever been so desperately alone as I did then.

That was, until late that night. After the police examinations, after being personally interviewed by what felt like every reporter on earth, and every student on campus, after having a dozen therapists' cards stuffed into an unyielding hand…after all the noise and the activity that passed numbly by my eyes and ears…

After all that, I went to take off my school issue sweater, and found something strange in the pocket. A smooth, rectangular something. A cell phone, unremarkable in every way. I turned it on, and found a number I had never seen before on speed-dial.

It took me several months to get the gall to call that number.

I'm not going to say this story has a fairy-tale ending. My father never makes an attempt to apologize, and I never make an attempt to contact him again. I don't suddenly develop mutant powers, and find I'm one of the great legends that I've read about and worshiped. I don't find a new, loving family with my kidnappers. I don't even finish my senior year of high school for another two semesters.

What I do find something that is oddly reminiscent of a friend. A dangerous friend, sure. It's not exactly safe to get into arguments with Toad, even though he's getting loads better at controlling his temper…but still, I tend to look forward to each time he comes to visit me on a brand new campus.

In the end, looking back at it all, I don't think it's possible to determine if someone is good or evil, hero or villain. Even the most revered people today, and throughout history, have a dark side. And even the most contemptible people have a streak of goodness. The problem is, most people never bother to look.


End file.
